It’s been a long time since Ecuador.

After 24 hours of traveling and delayed flights, April and I landed in a chaotic scene of mudslides, deep snow, and electrical outages.  April and I, along with Summit’s ISAS students, stayed a few nights at the Smith’s (Executive Director’s family) house and enjoyed the close community of eight people eating, playing, packing a studying in close quarters.  The wood stoves were roaring, the snow was falling, and I took my first truly warm shower in three months.  These days were transitional for me—days of hesitating with my toilet paper, trying to remember where to put it if not in a trash can.  A week of savoring each leaf of lettuce and piece of fresh fruit which had not been washed in disinfectant.  Two days later, April and I set out for Red Rocks National Monument to meet some friends and climb.  We happily escaped the snow (the electricity remained off for several more days) and headed into the desert.

Snow in Bass Lake

As a child, I always enjoyed long car rides by staring out the window and thinking about everything, or nothing.  I still do, and on that trip I had plenty to think about.  Along the way, we stopped to visit two young families which, somehow, were extremely important events for me.  I can’t put my finger exactly on a reason why.  Part of it, perhaps, was my knowledge that I was entering a time of inconsistency—a time of moving from job to job, place to place, community to community, often feeling alone.  There is something healing about sitting down in the home of a welcoming family; of seeing loving, consistent, lasting relationships and being invited to participate in them,  if only for a day or a few hours.  Since moving around the past few years, I have come to greatly enjoy families.

Kathleen and Shotgun.  Guess who is who.  Part of the family I got to visit.

Upon returning from our climbing trip to Red Rocks, April and I parted ways and I worked for a week doing a manual labor at Mission Springs, a Christian conference center in Santa Cruz.  I chose to volunteer and work there as an escape from “purposelessness”, the sickening feeling of not being useful.  At the camp I mainly did manual labor, job applications, and catching up with friends.  Manual labor was the best thing I could have done for that week.  Something mindless, repetitive, and physical.  Digging holes, pouring concrete, and weed-eating were perfect tasks for me.   I felt emotionally tired, but physically restless.  I did not want to be around a lot of people most of the time.  The maintenance guys were great.  You’re not estranged if you’re not talking.

After getting my truck worked on and finally going to an English-speaking church on Sunday, I left for Yosemite and rope-soloed part of a route called The Prow.  I fixed lines, then rappelled to the ground laying my sleeping bag on a boulder beneath a tree.  I talked to God and wrote in my journal as the sun set on the valley, then lay on the boulder simply thinking until the stars were bright and clear through the branches over my head.  The next day, I headed up the rock alone, stopping at every ledge to sit and enjoy the view and pop a couple M&M’s in my mouth.  M&M’s are extremely expensive in Ecuador.  I retreated soon enough to meet the Summit Adventure community for dinner at Tom’s house.  The next day I began planning for the ISAS expedition.

On the Prow of Washington Column

The ISAS expedition was a sixteen day trip in the backcountry.  Due to the time of year (the second half of April) snowshoes were required the entire trip.  There were only two students on this trip, Bekah and 

Sleeping in a spacious four-person snow cave.  We were glad to be out of the weather.

Brendon, and one co-instructor, Kelli.  In the midst of some raging creek crossings, on day three, Brendon finally admitted that his feet hurt and decided to take off his boots.  His feet were red, and blistered and missing some big chunks of skin from the bottoms of his toes.  We kept an eye on his feet when we could and rerouted the course to go down through Yosemite Valley.  There, Brendon and Kelli were “evacuated” during resupply and Bekah and I continued on for the next eight days alone.   

Found the highway.

On day nine, after gaining 3,400 feet in 5.5 hours with 70 lb packs, we reached the Snow Creek Cabin and enjoyed the opportunity to dry out our boots, bask in front of a fire, and read the Easter story without cold fingers. Most of the two-story cabin was buried in snow.

It’s hard to express the contented feeling of watching wet snow fall outside a window, after sleeping in it the past eight nights.  The next day, which was both Easter and Bekah’s birthday, we traveled 7 miles to Tenaya Lake where we stayed for a night and a day on “Solo”.  Solo is a time to be alone, reflect, and listen to God.  This type of thing is found throughout the Bible when Elijah or Jesus or John escape to the wilderness to pray and fast.  Being the gentleman I am, I gave Bekah the tarp-shelter we had and dug myself a snow cave to sleep in.  

My personal snow...bunk?

I spent much time on Tenaya Lake (it was frozen) feeling the wind whip around my face, singing praises to God, and praying for friends, family, and the future.  

Sunset at Tenaya Lake

The rest of the course contained a climb up Cathedral Peak (doing the 5.10 variation in boots, I’ll proudly add), snow anchor school, and some grueling marches back to Yosemite Valley though rain and snow.

Cathedral Peak and camp

view on the descent off Cathedral Peak

Little rest awaited me upon returning to civilization as I caught wind of some friends heading up El Capitan very soon.  I slept one night in a somewhat civilized manner (at least it was under a roof), the next was on some boulders at the base of the West Face of El Cap.  I had hiked up and stumbled over Graham and Keith sleeping around midnight.  So I plopped down to sleep and the next morning arose at 4:30 to start climbing.  After some scary, wet climbing and one decent fall, we arrived back down on the ground at 3:30 am—a 23 hour trip.  A few days later I got on the Captain again and was amazed to see how I flew up the rock, climbing with style sections of the route I had floundered on the preceding fall.  It was as if I had been training, but I hadn’t climbed anything hard in months.  Oh to be young.

And this all brings me to the present.  I’m sitting in front of the woodstove at Summit Adventure.  The power just came back on after some heavy hail and lighting.  I’m volunteering here in exchange for a place to stay and am deeply enjoying having community with friends I’ve known for years.  But I leave again Monday to fly to Johns Hopkins University in Maryland.  I’m scheduled to lead a two week canoeing course for them, followed by a shorter rock climbing course.  Those two courses will take me to June 6^th, just before the Summit Adventure summer courses will begin.

Its quiet here, and dark, except for the fan on the wood stove humming and the clicking of my keyboard.  I slept in a real bed last night, waking in the dark thinking I was on a cliff-edge somewhere.   Today, I took the plastic off all the windows at Summit Adventure so a little more light can brighten its spaces.  If you think of it, would you please pray for my future, that I make responsible decisions, and for Summit Adventure as money is always more than tight.  Also, the poor always need more prayer and action, many in Ecuador are still scrambling around in the trash even while I’m comfy in front of a fire.  Thanks for reading.  Good night.